


Ballad of a Dancer

by sodapeach



Series: 50 Fics [2]
Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dialogue Heavy, How Do I Tag, Implied 2Chan, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Songwriting, making plans for the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodapeach/pseuds/sodapeach
Summary: If Songwriter!Seungwoo doesn’t get more work soon, he’s going to have to leave the industry to keep himself and his boyfriend afloat. Fortunately, Chan always has the best timing.
Relationships: Han Seungwoo & Heo Chan, Han Seungwoo/Kang Seungsik
Series: 50 Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886716
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Ballad of a Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> Fic unrelated to the other works in the series. ❤️ 
> 
> Challenge Word: Song  
> Please if you take on my 50 fic challenge, don’t make the fics longer than like 2k 😭 it is not worth it!!!!
> 
> I have no idea how to tag this please

Seungwoo rolled over onto a pile of sheets too expensive and too soft for them, tired and lost in thought. Seungsik was curled up at his side with a soft look on his face that made him warm from head to toe. He stretched out to caress his cheek, wanting a second more of him, and Seungsik reached up and held Seungwoo’s hand to his face like he needed the touch too.

His head rested back into the pillow, and he smiled up to the ceiling wondering how someone like him could have ever been so lucky to fall in love as quickly and deeply as he had. 

Seungsik groaned pleasantly as he stretched before rolling over closer to him, finding a place for his head on his chest over the tattoo of his own initials that Seungwoo bore. It was small and delicate and was placed exactly where his ear had fallen dozens of times before Seungwoo had realized he was going to spend the rest of his life with him. He hadn’t told him that yet, though. They both knew, of course, but he hadn’t said the words out loud because he was afraid that if he did, he would wake up.

Seungsik didn’t rush him to say so, though. Their affection came in small acts of kindness and a fondness for each other unmatched by any other experience he had ever shared with another human being in his life. They lived like two people who weren’t incomplete without each other, but who, when together, energized each other and gave each other strength and comfort when the other needed it. 

And that day, or that evening rather, it was comfort. 

They needed each other at the same time in their own ways. Seungwoo hadn’t sold anything in over a year, and he was considering finding work outside of the industry to help out with their bills which was reasonably breaking his spirit, and then Seungsik came home with the most broken look on his face, and he knew that they were weeks from not making it. So instead of crying about it, they collapsed into each other because they knew too well how to make the other forget that they were ever troubled at all.

“Do you want to talk about it,” he asked, still waiting to catch his breath, his blood pumping too quickly to focus.

“I’m fine,” Seungsik said, a cheerful flatness to his voice that he wasn’t buying.

“You can’t lie to me,” he said softly. “I can see right through you.”

He reached up and covered Seungwoo’s eyes with his hand. “No, you can’t.”

He broke into a smile that he couldn’t fight off. “Be serious.”

“Who are you to tell me to be serious,” he laughed.

“That’s true,” he admitted. “But as your boyfriend, you’re not allowed to lie to me unless my food isn’t good.”

“Shouldn’t I tell you so you’ll get better?”

“Absolutely not,” he said as he took Seungsik’s hand from over his face and intertwined their fingers. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Seungsik shifted like he was going to slip away and go hide in the shower until Seungwoo fell asleep, but Seungwoo held his free arm around him so he couldn’t move.

“I know you can handle it by yourself, but that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

He sighed. “You can’t fix it.”

“Can you?”

“No,” Seungsik said.

“So tell me so I know who or what to curse at,” Seungwoo said.

“It’s work.”

“Ahhh… what happened?”

“They pulled the show I was working on,” he said, his voice distant. “The pilot didn’t do well during the test screening, and all of the sponsors pulled out so the studio scrapped it.”

“Damn,” Seungwoo said. “That was supposed to be your big break.”

Seungsik snorted. “I was barely a producer. I just did the cast interviews.”

“Still! It was important to you, wasn’t it?” 

“I guess,” he said, burying his face into his chest and covering them both up with the blanket. Seungwoo felt his own heavy eyes close despite himself, but he wasn’t done helping. But he was so close to falling asleep…

Seungsik’s breaths had slowed to a shallow rise and fall meaning that he had drifted off too quickly himself so maybe it was alright to go to bed early…

Before he could submit, his phone started to vibrate on the nightstand slightly out of reach. He couldn’t get it without disturbing Seungsik, and he very much wanted him to rest, but it was an important name that he couldn’t ignore. In fact, he even dared to get his hopes up.

“Leave it,” Seungsik groaned, too tired to move.

“I can’t, it’s Chan,” he said. At that Seungsik swiftly pushed himself off of him. It was a make or break opportunity that neither of them could afford to miss.

“Hey,” he said into the phone, trying to keep his voice steady. They may have been friends, even the closest of friends at times, but if Chan so much as remotely detected how excited he was to hear from him, he would never hear the end of it.

“Hey, you busy?” Chan asked, not wasting any time. Good, he thought. Maybe this was a good sign.

“I’m just working,” he lied, catching a look from a still very undressed Seungsik.

“Cool, I need a favor, and I was wondering if I could drop by,” he said. He sounded anxious, and that did  _ not  _ feel like a good sign.

“Sure, give me at least half an hour,” he said, and they ended the call. “Chan is coming over.”

“You don’t say,” Seungsik said, pulling his sweats on.

“I need to take a shower before he gets here,” he said, considering what they had only just been doing moments before he called.

Seungsik stopped getting dressed and looked back at him, hopeful. “A shower, you say?”

“Mhm,” he reached out and pulled him close for a kiss. “You wanna come with me?”

“Yes,” he smiled against his mouth, pushing him back onto the mattress.

“Not what I meant!” Seungwoo teased, welcoming the attack even if it meant he would have to rush to get ready later. He hadn’t really had enough of him yet to feel completely  _ comforted _ , if he was perfectly honest.

“It could be,” he said, happily on top of him before giving him a last kiss. “Let’s go. I don’t wanna gross Chan out.”

“That could be fun,” he considered.

“Maybe after you get some good news,” he said, rolling himself off the bed and backing towards the bathroom.

Seungwoo jumped up to follow him and was dragged in. “We  _ have _ to get good news.”

“I know,” he said before giving him a deep, reassuring kiss. “It’s going to work out.”

They sort of got dressed in time.

Their shower adventure took longer than expected because as soon as the water ran down, blurring Seungsik’s face with strands of wet hair and soaking his broad shoulders, he forgot that he was supposed to be in a hurry. 

Earlier he had taken control, using his body to wipe away his partner’s stress, but seeing him like that, did something to him he couldn’t explain. And Seungsik knew exactly what he needed.

And what he needed took almost twenty minutes, which was not ideal considering he had only asked for thirty, but it was fine. Chan was rarely ever on time.

Except, of course, that night. It was late enough though that both of them could get away with being in their house clothes with wet messy hair when he arrived without looking suspicious.

There was a knock on the apartment door, and Seungwoo answered.

Chan looked at him and back at Seungsik who was sitting comfortably on the sofa. “You two look guilty.”

Seungwoo’s lips thinned. “Come on in, Chan, it’s nice to see you.”

“You do!” He laughed, stepping inside and pulling his mask off. “Working, my ass.”

He looked back at his boyfriend apologetically, who didn’t seem to mind Chan’s teasing at all. In fact, he seemed almost used to it.

“He was working,” Seungsik said. “We were just taking a break. Do you want something to eat?”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be staying, actually,” Chan said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Suit yourself,” he said, folding his legs under himself. Seungwoo’s stomach dropped knowing that the conversation wasn’t going to be what he had hoped for at all, but if it really wasn’t, he wasn’t sure he wanted his boyfriend there to hear it. He was stressed enough as it was for his own reasons. He didn’t want to add to it.

“Thank you, though,” Chan said before taking his seat in the armchair next to the corner of the sofa. 

Seungwoo took his place between them, and an awkward silence fell. He waited patiently for Chan to explain why he was there and maybe save Seungwoo from a huge amount of stress, but Chan was content to look around the room, avoiding their expectant gazes like he was in a hospital waiting room. Seungwoo couldn’t take it anymore.

“You said you needed help with something?”

“Yeah,” Chan said with a shy laugh. “I’m trying to figure out how to get around to that.”

“Did you kill someone? Because I’ve never buried a body before, and I don’t know if I’m qualified to do that. Seungsik might be,” he said.

“It’s true, I can do anything,” Seungsik said, not really paying attention.

“No, it’s not that…”

“Do you need me to be your date for your cousin’s wedding?”

“No,” Seungsik answered for him, and Seungwoo snorted.

Chan shook his head. “No, no, no, it’s nothing like that. I, umm, need your services.”

Seungsik and Seungwoo both gave him a puzzled look.

“Ah, no, not  _ those _ services,” he said. “I need your other services. The ones you’re actually good at.”

It was Seungsik’s turn to snort. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

Seungsik placed his head on his shoulder for a moment to assure him that he was kidding, but he was still going to have to pay for it later, no matter how cute he was.

“Are these  _ musical _ services,” Seungwoo asked, too hopeful and risking getting his heart broken, unable to wait any longer. 

Chan was originally a backup dancer who went on an audition program years before and got a decent enough following to start his solo career. Seungwoo had written and produced a few of his earlier songs, but the company Chan was signed to was picky and liked to work with in-house producers or foreign teams looking to break into the market. The chance he was going to ask him for a song was slim, but it was a chance he was desperate for.

Chan sighed, making his blood run cold. He was stupid for asking. “Actually, they are.”

“What?” He blinked, not sure he had heard him correctly.

“I want you to make a song for me,” he said. “If you have time.”

“No, yeah, dude, of course,” he said, waving his hand casually like he wasn’t ready to jump up and kiss Chan on the mouth for saving him. Saving  _ them _ . “I like working with you. What do you want, hiphop? EDM? Something retro?”

Chan shook his head.

“I was thinking, maybe,” he started before closing his eyes and sighing again. “We could try a ballad.”

“A what,” he snorted. “You?!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Chan waved him off. “I know it’s not my usual thing, but don’t you think I have the voice for it?”

“Sure,” he said, taken aback. “But you’ve just always made  _ dance music.” _

“And now I want to make slow dance music,” he said, serious.

“Okay, sure,” he said. “We can do a ballad.”

“Really?” Chan’s eyes were wide and hopeful.

“Yeah, dude, when do you wanna do this?”

“What about right now,” he blurted out.

Seungwoo shook his head, confused. “Didn’t you just say you weren’t going to stay tonight?”

“That was in case you told me no,” he said with a shameless grin.

Seungsik, who had been silent for most of the conversation, only making his presence known by tugging at Seungwoo’s clothes idly for comfort, finally spoke. “I’ll order the pizza. We need beer, right?”

“Yes,” they said at the same time. 

“Or would you rather have chicken?”

“It’s going to be a long night,” Seungwoo said, batting his eyelashes.

Seungsik sighed. “Chicken, pizza, and beer it is.”

Chan clapped his hands. “You guys are the best.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Seungwoo said, pointing at him with a threatening finger. “We have a lot of work to do.”

Chan saluted him. “I’m putting everything in your hands, boss.”

That did not make him feel confident.

Work started after they ate, and Seungwoo had one hell of an appetite. It was either because of his and Seungsik’s afternoon stress relieving session or his body’s way of reacting to Seungwoo having another chance to make music again and not having to kiss his dream goodbye to keep them afloat.

For some reason, most people thought selling a few songs meant they would be set for life, but contracts were unpredictable and living was expensive. Sporadic income with different rates and terms was unstable at best.

And Chan wanted a ballad.

The time of year to prepare for a ballad release was right, he supposed, especially if they held it until early December. 

Depending on how sentimental the song and video was, it might work, but the idea of making a soloist who specialized in summertime dance anthems targeted towards people in their late teens chart with a wintertime ballad was daunting. 

There were several artists out there who had already made that their market, drama soundtracks that evoked cinematic reactions from the listeners, and plenty of k-pop idols who released solo music once they had established themselves enough to try out what they wanted to do. 

Throwing Chan into the mix was going to be a gamble and a bloodbath, but he wouldn’t dare talk him out of it. High risk meant high reward in their business, and he couldn’t afford to be cautious. So what if they became a joke? The bigger joke was giving up.

Seungsik was stressed about it too even though he couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place to stop them, because even if Seungwoo was partially doing it for him too, it was  _ his _ dream in the end. But Seungsik needed this to work, and even though they worked in two different media fields, they shuffled around the same artists mechanically.

If the entertainment business was a bakery, people like Seungwoo mixed the ingredients in the bowl, people like Chan placed them in the oven, and people like Seungsik took them out and served them on a platter. They had no control over whether the public liked what they made or not just as much as they couldn’t force people to like cake. 

Needless to say, the air in the apartment was weighted, and even Chan seemed too stressed to function, but it was his idea in the first place.

Seungwoo was on the couch again with a notebook on the armrest, jotting down his ideas, and Seungsik sat next to him quietly listening, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Chan was on the floor with his laptop, typing away as he hummed to himself, searching for an idea to cling onto. 

Before they ever touched a keyboard or a guitar, Seungwoo liked to first find out the purpose of a song. The lyrics came first, and then the melody, and then they could start building. By morning if all went well, they would have enough to record a guide. 

“What kind of message do you want this to have,” he asked, starting his list for inspiration.

Chan hummed.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“So, any kind of ballad then?” Seungwoo asked.

“No, I’m just not quite sure what I’m trying to say,” he said.

“Who is this for?”

“What?” He asked, his eyes wide and his cheeks turning a light pink.

“Like, who is supposed to listen to this? Couples breaking up? People missing someone? People who hate their jobs?”

“Oh,” Chan relaxed. “I guess, if I had to say, maybe for people falling in love.”

“Maybe?” Seungwoo raised an eyebrow. 

“People fall in love all the time when the weather is cold,” Chan defended. “It’s a totally valid reason to listen to a ballad.”

“That’s true,” he smirked. His friend was hiding a secret he was going to dig out one way or another.

“How did you guys, you know…” Chan asked.

Seungwoo looked at Seungsik surprised. No one had ever asked them that before, and he wasn’t sure they had ever really talked about it to each other either.

“I don’t know,” Seungwoo said. “We just started spending all of our time together, and then one day we didn’t and it was really uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable,” Seungsik snorted.

“You cried,” Seungwoo said. “That was uncomfortable.”

Seungsik gawked. “I cried because  _ you _ cried.”

“I wasn’t crying, my eyes were leaking,” Seungwoo said.

“Wait, you guys broke up?” Chan asked, confused, which made sense considering it didn’t seem like that was a possibility especially from the outside.

“Not exactly,” Seungsik said. “We weren’t really together then, and there were some weird comments from people about us so we kind of got wedged apart for a bit.”

“And it sucked,” Seungwoo added.

“You’re the one who pulled away,” he sighed.

“I know,” he mumbled, reaching out to pinch the fabric of Seungsik’s sweats. “But anyways it was after that happened, we decided we weren’t going to make ourselves go through it again, and then after a while, people stopped making comments.”

“So being in love means not wanting to be apart from each other,” Chan said, thinking out loud. He turned to Seungwoo and scowled. “What are you doing, write that down!”

“Oh!” Seungwoo said, surprised. “Right!”

“Don’t get too sentimental, you might not finish your work,” Seungsik teased.

_ “He asked!” _

“Write it down!” Seungsik pretended to scold him. “Falling in love means never wanting to be apart from each other!”

“Alright! Alright! I’m writing it down!”

As they bickered, Chan sat quietly and thought to himself, lost in his own questions about someone else’s love. While Seungwoo scribbled away, Seungsik elbowed him and gestured towards Chan and furrowed his brow like he wanted to know what was going on, and Seungwoo looked back at him with a shrug, the corners of his mouth turning downward to say he didn’t know. Chan’s behavior was a mystery, and one of them was bound to get nosy before the night was over.

But first, work.

“So do you want to make a song about not wanting to be apart from someone?” Seungwoo asked.

Chan hummed, snapping out of it. “I don’t know if that’s what I’m looking for.”

Seungwoo looked at Seungsik for help who, as a rule, only gave suggestions when he was desperate. He was desperate.

“You’ve been in love before, right,” he said to their guest. “What did it feel like for you?”

Chan looked down and frowned.

“I don’t know if I have,” he admitted.

“Oh,” Seungsik said. “What do you want it to feel like then?”

Chan laughed. “I’m not really good with words.”

“We can work on it,” Seungwoo assured him. “But if you want to do a ballad, you’re going to have to get used to being sappy for the next six months.”

He sighed and hung his head, defeated. “I guess you’re right. You’re not going to make fun of me, are you?”

“Maybe.”

“Probably.”

Chan grimaced and flopped over on the floor in emotional turmoil. They were right, though. He was expected to be vulnerable as an artist this time, and for some people, it was a honed skill. They could separate their own truth from their art, but the first time for everyone was like ripping off the world’s biggest bandaid. It was a sacrifice of self, and Chan’s heart was on the chopping block, unless…

“Is there another topic you want to try out? Maybe even a good, sticky metaphor you can disassociate yourself from,” Seungwoo suggested, afraid that they would never finish anything if Chan had to dig into a place he wasn’t ready to deal with yet.

“No, it has to be this,” he said, firm. “I’ve got this.”

The Seungs looked at each other, but neither argued with him. If he said it had to be about falling in love, then it had to be about falling in love. It was the falling part, wasn’t it?

“So, you want to sing about falling in love,” he asked for clarity.

“No, I want to sing about the moment when you know you’re already there,” he said. “Like the  _ oh  _ moment.”

_ “Oh,”  _ they both said, dragging out the word in perfect harmony.

“I don’t know if I had an  _ oh  _ moment,” Seungsik considered. “It was sort of always there and wasn’t much of a surprise. The  _ oh  _ moment was more for how much it hurt when he wasn’t there anymore.”

“Now we’re talkin’,” Chan said quietly, absorbing the information like a small child in front of a tv.

“Isn’t that the same thing,” Seungwoo asked. 

“I think that instead of looking at you one day and thinking  _ wow I love him,  _ I was losing my mind because when you weren’t around, nothing was right anymore. It somehow came to the point that you were what made things normal,” he explained.

“So, being in love with someone means that they’re what makes things feel normal,” Chan repeated to himself.

“Yes,” Seungsik said. “It wasn’t a revelation for me because it happened over time and became my new normal.”

“What if it doesn’t feel normal,” he asked.

Seungwoo hummed. “Then I guess it’s something else then, isn’t it.”

“Was seeing Seungsik all the time what felt normal for you,” Chan asked, turning to Seungwoo.

“Yeah, like I didn’t even ask him to go out with me, we just defaulted to doing things together, and we spent a lot of time at each others places instead of going out, and he was the first person I talked to when I woke up and the last person I talked to before I went to sleep,” Seungwoo said. “So suddenly when he wasn’t there anymore, and I couldn’t even send him a meme if I wanted to, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with myself anymore. It wasn’t normal.”

“What makes it different from a best friend,” he asked.

“Well, if Sejun got married, would you be his best man?” Seungsik asked.

“Yeah,” Chan said. “If not, I’d kick his ass.”

“And would you want to rip your own heart out if you saw him marrying someone who wasn’t you?”

Chan gave them a disgusted look. “I don’t wanna marry Sejun! That’s weird!”

“That’s the difference,” Seungsik laughed. “If Seungwoo found someone else even if we were still just friends, I would be devastated.”

“Awww,” Seungwoo teased.

“Shut up, crybaby,” he grumbled. Seungwoo planted a quick kiss that made Chan’s face turn a pale green on Seungsik’s cheek.

“Write it down,” Chan ordered. “Before we forget. Love is normal and not the same as just being someone’s best friend.”

Seungwoo added his new notes before anyone could fuss at him again.

“Alright,” he said. “Enough about us. I don’t want to hear my own love story on the radio.”

“Why not,” Seungsik pouted playfully.

“Because Chan’s company is stingy with royalties,” he said simply.

“Hey!” Chan shouted.

“Well they are!”

“You’re right, it should be Chan’s love story,” Seungsik said, flashing a knowing smile.

“What?” Chan choked. “No, this is for pretend.”

“Is it?” Seungsik said. “My mistake.”

Seungwoo had to suppress a laugh. He knew it, Seungsik knew it, but they weren’t sure  _ Chan  _ knew it. Chan could be quite dense at times, but this… this was a new level even for him.

“Let’s just get back to work,” Chan said, focusing too intently on his computer screen for someone who was supposed to not have any idea what they were talking about.

While Seungwoo and Chan bounced ideas back and forth, never really getting where they needed to be, Seungsik dozed off wedged between the cushions to hold himself up. Chan looked away to give them some sort of privacy while Seungwoo pulled his sleeping boyfriend into his lap so he could rest his head on his leg.

“Should I go so he can sleep,” Chan asked in a hushed tone.

Seungwoo shook his head and spoke normally. “He’s fine. He could sleep through a concert.”

“PD things,” he said. Seungwoo hummed in agreement. “He’s fine though, right?”

“Ah, yeah, he’s just nosy,” he laughed. “He’d rather watch us work than sit by himself all night and not get to see what we do.”

“Does he watch you work a lot?”

Seungwoo couldn’t hold back the frown from taking over his face. Seungsik hadn’t had the chance to watch him work because Seungwoo had nothing to work on. He had a whole library of songs no one wanted, and it had been ages since someone came looking for him. Maybe the comments about them bore more weight than he realized. Or maybe he just sucked more than he thought he did, and the industry was just giving him a much needed wake up call.

“Seungwoo?”

Seungwoo forced himself to smile and shook his head. “This is his first time.”

It wasn’t a lie, although it did imply that Seungwoo had anything to show him, but fortunately Chan didn’t ask for more than that. Instead he looked at the man sleeping in his lap, and if anyone else had looked at him like that, Seungwoo might have felt on edge, threatened even, but Chan wasn’t looking at  _ Seungsik,  _ he was looking at someone else he imagined resting their head that safely on him.

“Who is it, Chanie,” Seungwoo asked, taking on the persona of the kind older brother that he rarely used when they were working, but Chan had the face of someone who needed to put aside his professionalism, if just for a few minutes. He slumped forward and twisted his mouth. Seungwoo tilted his head not unlike a very large samoyed. “You can tell me. Your secret is safe with me and Sikie. And Sikie can’t even hear us.”

Chan laughed, relaxing. “I’m not seeing anyone. I’m forever single and devoted to my fans, remember?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He threw his head back and released a long sigh looking as pained as he did when he was waiting for the results in the finale. He took another breath and composed himself, and Seungwoo gave him plenty of time to gather his thoughts.

“You know my company doesn’t just do music, right?”

“I didn’t,” Seungwoo said.

“Well like there’s the music part, and then there’s the part that has actors and models,” he said.

“Go on…”

“And there’s an actor,” Chan swallowed. 

“Mhm,” Seungwoo nodded.

“He’s really tall and,” Chan waved his arms. “Kind of like a really long piece of spaghetti, but he also looks like someone you would want to carry around.”

“And he’s pretty?” 

“He has dimples that make yours look like chickenpox scars,” he said, excited. “Not mine though. Mine are still exquisite.”

“Why are you like this?”

Chan ignored him and continued. “And he has the smallest little teefies when he smiles!”

_ “Teefies?!”  _ Seungwoo screeched almost loud enough to wake Seungsik. He cleared his throat. “Are you serious?”

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Got carried away.”

“No, dude, I’m happy for you,” he laughed. “But you’re so excited.”

“I know,” Chan frowned

“No, this is good,” he said. “We can use this.”

“Really?”

“A bit weird for a ballad, but fuck it they don’t all have to he gloomy,” he said. “I think the trick is that we don’t need to focus on what me and Seungsik have because we’re like…”

“Married.”

“Not yet,” he said. Chan raised an eyebrow. Seungwoo shook his head meaning he didn’t want to get into that. “Old friends who grew into each other.”

“Like two very big trees.”

“Exactly.”

“Who are married.”

“Stop that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Seungwoo looked down at a still sleeping Seungsik and smiled bitterly. Maybe one day. “So this actor.”

“Right! Yeah, I adore him,” Chan said. “I used to hate going to the agency when I’m not working, but now I keep going just so I can try to see him.”

“What do you guys do when you hang out?”

“When we what?”

Seungwoo looked at Chan and blinked. “Heo Chan, have you ever talked to this man?”

“Sure I have,” he scoffed. “What do I look like?”

“... when?”

Chan swallowed. “He presented me an award once.”

Seungwoo closed his eyes to gather himself. He and Seungsik had gotten way ahead of themselves because they assumed that Chan had developed and built some secret romance with this person, but no, his dear friend had simply seen a pretty face and decided to yeet himself into oblivion. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Chan said, annoyed. “Just because my feelings didn’t happen like yours did, doesn’t mean they’re not valid.”

Seungwoo felt a pang, and immediately regretted making a face at all. If this was important enough for Chan to make a huge career shift for, then he needed to take it seriously too. “I know, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Chan folded his arms across his chest and pouted, unsatisfied.

“But I think,” Seungwoo offered. “We need to look at this from a different kind of perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like a love at first sight kind of song,” he said. Chan blushed and looked like he was ready to make a joke, but Seungwoo was serious. This was something they could work with. “Like a  _ when I first saw you  _ kind of song.”

Chan looked at him in surprise. “Oh! Yeah! That’s the song I want!”

“Great,” Seungwoo said, pleased. “We can sketch down some lyrics, but they don’t have to be perfect yet. You can mumble through the guide if you have to.”

“I thought you were an all lyrics first kind of guy,” he raised an eyebrow.

“I am but it’s 3 a.m,” he said. “It would be better to get a melody down too by sunrise.”

“Right,” he agreed. 

Soon after, they busied themselves with work, but what they could do was limited due to their current arrangement. Seungsik was in a deep sleep, and Seungwoo was grateful that his pants were dark enough to hide the tiny puddle of drool that formed above his knee.

Chan typed and mumbled to himself for a while, and Seungwoo scribbled down his thoughts on a notepad. The theme of the song, they decided, was not going to be being in love with someone, but the longing that came from seeing someone for the first time and wanting to get to know them and not quite knowing how to. It was perfect.

After a while, Chan rolled back onto the floor and let out a low groan. “I’m done.”

“You done?” Seungwoo asked.

“Yep,” he said. “I did it.”

“We can go throw something together with the piano, and I can change it to strings and shit tomorrow,” he said, ready to get to work.

“Don’t get up,” he said. “There’s no need to wake him.”

“I have to to finish the song.”

Chan shook his head. “I don’t want to rush this. I’m not ready to work on the melody yet.”

Seungwoo’s stomach dropped. If Chan was backing out of his big ballad idea, that meant no work for him and he was back to square one. So he pushed.

“When do you want to try it?”

“Tomorrow,” he said with a nod. “I want to sleep on it first and get the story right in my head because I think it should feel like a drama OST.”

“So… not a ballad?” Seungwoo asked.

“Like something emotional, but not for sad people,” he said. “So I think we should wait.”

“And you’re sure?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if we’re in the right headspace for it,” he said. Seungwoo gave him a look. “And by we, I mean not me.”

He smiled faintly and shook his head. “I’m good to go. I just gotta put nosy pants to bed, and we’re good.”

“Yeah, but like, you’re not… good,” he said. “I know it’s none of my business, but we’re friends right? And as your friend, I think you’re having not  _ first sight  _ thoughts.”

“I’m fine,” he promised. “I want to work.”

“It can’t come out until the end of the year at least,” he reminded him. “If the company likes it.”

“Right,” Seungwoo swallowed. There was still the chance that the song would never see the light of day and all of his hope would have been sparked for nothing. Maybe leaving the industry on his own with a solid clean break would save him the pain of waiting.

“They’ll like it though,” he assured him. “I mean, they have to. You and I are writing it.”

Seungwoo tried not to be bitter. If him being on a project guaranteed anything then why didn’t they give him more work? And why didn’t Chan ask for him before? But there was always stuff going on behind the scenes that outsiders didn’t know about, and even though they were friends, Seungwoo was still an outsider. He just had to trust that things weren’t as grim as he thought they were.

About that time, Seungsik rolled over in his lap to his other side, burying his face into Seungwoo’s shirt. He smiled. Even in his sleep, Seungsik knew when he needed him.

“Can I ask you something,” Chan asked quietly, afraid to wake him.

“Hmm?”

“You guys,” he said, glancing at the back of Seungsik’s head. “Why haven’t you…”

“Ah,” Seungwoo said, dreading the lie he was going to have to craft off of the top of his head. The truth was that if things got too bad financially as long as they were like this, Seungsik could leave without it being more of a nightmare than it had to be. Even though they wanted to, Seungwoo wanted to keep that door open for him until things got better so he made them put it off indefinitely. “We’re just waiting for things to be more stable.”

Diplomatic, he thought. He didn’t have to lie, but it wasn’t the sob story it could have been. But Chan was smart.

“Like how?”

Seungwoo laughed. “More work! Give me more songs!”

Chan put his face in his hands and laughed. “Right. Listen, if this goes well, just do the whole album.”

Seungwoo almost choked. “Bro, what?”

“Yeah, we need like, what five for a mini? Just do the whole thing,” he said. 

“That’s a big commitment,” he said, wary. It was also an  _ unapproved  _ commitment. It was a promise he couldn’t possibly make. “Are you sure?”

“Listen, my contract is up in eight months. What are they gonna do? Tell me no?” Chan flashed a smile.

“And if they do?”

He scratched his chin. “There are other companies.”

“Chan.”

“I could start my own,” he considered. “One man operation. The king on top.”

“You could,” Seungwoo said, not totally convinced.

“Or two…”

“Two companies?” Chan looked at him and wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, dude, no way.”

“Why not,” he whined.

“Because neither one of us knows shit about running a company,” Seungwoo said.

“I do,” a soft grumble came from his lap.

“Go back to sleep,” Seungwoo said softly, rubbing his shoulder. Seungsik, his eyes still closed, shook his head.

“I worked with production budgets my first three years,” he mumbled. “Lots of overlap.”

“See, Seungsik knows how,” Chan gestured. “And I know all the departments well enough, and we can put you in charge of the music.”

“It’s a lot more than that,” Seungwoo said.

“It’s one artist,” he said. “Me. And I’m not asking you to sign a contract. This is leverage. If they say no, I might just drop the idea casually in conversation to remind them.”

“Casually,” he said. Seungsik stirred in his lap, and suddenly his only thoughts were on him. He just wanted to make things better for the both of them. He didn’t want to see him stress silently by himself anymore. It was a terrible idea, but the odds of Chan’s company handing a whole album over to him were slim to none. But if Chan really wanted out and brought him, them, with him… “You can’t throw your whole career away because I need work.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I don’t like that after over ten years with these people, I still can’t make my own decisions. Do you think I  _ like  _ dropping the same dance track every eight months? The first four times was great, but my god. They even turned down an OST on  _ my behalf  _ because they said it wouldn’t be good for my image. What image? I’m supposed to look dumb on variety shows, thrust at the floor, and pretend every single fan I see is my soulmate, and I’m not allowed to choose my own songs? Do you know how many scandals I’ve had?”

Seungwoo tilted his head in thought, unsure.

“None,” Chan continued. “I’ve done everything like I was supposed to. I don’t think it’s so unreasonable to ask for a little autonomy.”

“If they say no,” Seungwoo said. “I don’t have any money to put down.”

“I do.”

Seungwoo looked at him and exhaled, still rubbing his hand on Seungsik's shoulder like he was coaxing his very large cat to sleep.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he said. “You don’t have to do it with me. I would like you to. I would like to see you finally making as much music as you want full time, and even Seungsik could be the Creative Director, right Sik?”

“Right,” Seungsik mumbled.

“Do you have another option,” Chan asked. “Like, really?”

Seungwoo paused. “No.”

“And if this fails, what do you have to lose? What? You gonna go back to delivering chicken full time? You’re thinking about doing that anyway, right?”

Seungwoo didn’t appreciate that Chan knew  _ exactly  _ what he was going to do if he didn’t get work soon, but he had a point. So what if he was only delaying the inevitable? If it was his dream on the table, he wanted to at least be able to say he went down fighting. Saying no was giving up. And even the voice of reason in his lap, although probably not conscious enough to know what he was agreeing to, seemed to think it was a good idea.

“Do you want to start a company with Chan,” he asked him quietly.

“He’s your best friend,” he mumbled. “You can make lots of albums with him.”

“You’re my best friend,” Seungwoo said fondly, running his hair through his fingers.

“I. Am. Still. Here.” Chan said, green in the face.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“So what, we ask for the album, wait for them to say no, and then in eight months we start looking for office space,” Chan asked, leaning back on his hands with a content smile.

“If you leave, you won’t be able to see that guy anymore,” Seungwoo reminded him.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” he said, dreamily. “Once he hears our song, he’ll be knocking on my door in no time.”

“At your new agency.”

“Of course,” Chan nodded. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t listen to him,” Seungsik grumbled.

“Go back to sleep,” Chan said firmly. “Seungwoo and I have work to do.”

And work they did throughout the night, more determined and motivated than ever. Seungsik made coffee to keep them all (himself) awake, and they moved into the studio where hums and  _ dadada’s  _ were translated into notes, fed into Seungwoo’s computer through his keyboard, and then moved around and layered until they created a foundation for something that was no longer just a love letter for a pretty actor but also to themselves.

It was a song for love and freedom and sacrifice and hope, and yet there was so much more they couldn’t say confined to three minute, but the promise of an album (or more) kept the ideas flowing endlessly until the sun rose again and they continued to work over breakfast and more coffee.

Chan eventually fell asleep on the couch, too tired and too stubborn to go home, and Seungwoo and Seungsik found their way back into their bed, collapsing on the sheets with a different kind of euphoria than before.

“I’m proud of you,” Seungsik said, watching him hazily from the comfort of his own pillow.

“It could be a disaster,” he said quietly, anxious and apprehensive.

“It could be,” he reached out for him, taking his hand in his and giving it a loving squeeze. “But we won’t know until we give it a try.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you’re interested in joining me, you can find the original post [here](https://twitter.com/hugsubin/status/1295864178155163648?s=21).


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